So beautiful and brave she looked, so full of strength and yet of meek submission was her voice, that Christie’s heart was thrilled; for it was plain that Rachel had learned how to distil balm from the bitterness of life, and, groping in the mire to save lost souls, had found her own salvation there.

“Show me how to grow pious, strong, and useful, as you are,” she said.  “I am all wrong, and feel as if I never could get right again, for I haven’t energy enough to care what becomes of me.”

“I know the state, Christie:  I’ve been through it all! but when I stood where you stand now, there was no hand to pull me back, and I fell into a blacker river than this underneath our feet.  Thank God, I came in time to save you from either death!”

“How did you find me?” asked Christie, when she had echoed in her heart the thanksgiving that came with such fervor from the other’s lips.

“I passed you on the bridge.  I did not see your face, but you stood leaning there so wearily, and looking down into the water, as I used to look, that I wanted to speak, but did not; and I went on to comfort a poor girl who is dying yonder.  Something turned me back, however; and when I saw you down here I knew why I was sent.  You were almost gone, but I kept you; and when I had you in my arms I knew you, though it nearly broke my heart to find you here.  Now, dear, come home.

“Home! ah, Rachel, I’ve got no home, and for want of one I shall be lost!”

The lament that broke from her was more pathetic than the tears that streamed down, hot and heavy, melting from her heart the frost of her despair.  Her friend let her weep, knowing well the worth of tears, and while Christie sobbed herself quiet, Rachel took thought for her as tenderly as any mother.

When she had heard the story of Christie’s troubles, she stood up as if inspired with a happy thought, and stretching both hands to her friend, said, with an air of cheerful assurance most comforting to see: 

“I’ll take care of you; come with me, my poor Christie, and I’ll give you a home, very humble, but honest and happy.”

“With you, Rachel?”

“No, dear, I must go back to my work, and you are not fit for that.  Neither must you go again to your own room, because for you it is haunted, and the worst place you could be in.  You want change, and I’ll give you one.  It will seem queer at first, but it is a wholesome place, and just what you need.”

“I’ll do any thing you tell me.  I’m past thinking for myself to-night, and only want to be taken care of till I find strength and courage enough to stand alone,” said Christie, rising slowly and looking about her with an aspect as helpless and hopeless as if the cloud of mist was a wall of iron.

Rachel put on her bonnet for her and wrapped her shawl about her, saying, in a tender voice, that warmed the other’s heart: 

“Close by lives a dear, good woman who often befriends such as you and I. She will take you in without a question, and love to do it, for she is the most hospitable soul I know.  Just tell her you want work, that I sent you, and there will be no trouble.  Then, when you know her a little, confide in her, and you will never come to such a pass as this again.  Keep up your heart, dear; I’ll not leave you till you are safe.”